Heartbeat

Care And Appreciation; Journals

Alex-

His name felt perfect on my lips. It made my heart beat a thousand miles an hour and threatening to burst through my chest at any second, finding it unbelievable that he was able to make me say that simple word, his name, when all the therapy sessions and people I talked to could not. His emerald eyes bore into me, our heavy breath and the movie in the background the only sound surrounding us.

"Oh my God." The words were barely hearable as they tumbled past his berry colored lips, which now begin to tug up at the corners.

"You said my name." Harry laughs disbelievingly, shockingly, dimples popping into his cheeks, eyes lighting up with the action and crinkling in the corners.

He still holds himself above me with his arms, and when I smile up at him he hooks his arm around my waist and flips us over like he had done earlier, making me giggle into his shoulder as I hold onto him for stability.

"Alex you- I mean you just- oh my god- my name." His words were rushed and excited in what I'm thinking disbelief and shock, making me rest a reddened cheek against his chest, my body weight resting atop of him.

His large hand is pressing against my back, seeming to hold me even tighter to him, showing the care and appreciation he has for me, even though I don't know how deep that care runs. "You alright?" He asks me, wondering that since I'd spoken his name aloud I'd regretted it.

To confirm that I'm perfectly fine, maybe even more than that, I look up at him and nod my head, making his smile return to its place. "You have a nice voice, baby." He tells me. I shake my head humbly with a laugh and rest my cheek back against him.

"Thankyou." He murmurs.

I turn my head the slightest bit that was needed to press my lips to the warmed skin of his chest, my heart swelling, feeling like it will explode from all the happiness inside of it. I've never, ever been this happy before. Not since I was thirteen, when my sister Chelsea and my Mom died in that car accident. Not since I tore piano out of my life for good because it reminded me of them. I haven't been this happy in these past six years. Those years were miserable before Harry came along, moving right next door to me. It was like I was meant to meet him.

I want to tell Harry all of this, and I wish I could, but I just don't know how. It will take time, quite a bit of time and confidence to be comfortable enough to speak let alone with myself. Along with Harry, and even more time for the rest of my friends. I felt the pressure start to sink in at the thought.

The thought of Harry maybe expecting me to be babbling my mouth of now, speaking to him on a regular basis like a normal girl would. Because I know it will not happen that quickly, not after six years of silence. Not after six years of believing that it's useless, because nobody will listen and nobody will understand and nobody will even care what I feel or what I think. But Harry does care. For the first time somebody cares.

I get pulled from my racing thoughts and theories in my mind by Harry calling my name once again, bringing me back into reality. "Are you sure you're okay?" He asks me, concern laced deep in his words, worry sparkling in his eyes when I look up to him.

I want to tell him that I just want him to know everything. I want him to know everything that just ran through my head mere minutes ago. How I'm scared that he will expect me to talk all the time now, that he will tell the boys and the girls and for them to expect the same. I want him to know about my sister and mom, my dad, and about all my days in the orphanages and all the families that hadn't wanted me. And piano. I want him to know that I used to love to play piano and that I now miss it, and that I've always wanted to learn how to paint because I couldn't paint for anything when I was a child. I want to tell him what my top favorite three books are out of my hundreds. I want him to know every detail about me.